


don't leave me where i lay

by Taste_of_Suburbia



Series: an unquiet mind [8]
Category: From Paris with Love (2010)
Genre: Abuse, Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Angst, Assault, Attempted Rape/Non-Con, Case Fic, Coercion, Communication Failure, Denial of Feelings, Depression, Dreams and Nightmares, Drug Abuse, Emotional Constipation, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, Eventual Romance, Fake/Pretend Relationship, Fake/Pretend Relationship turned Real, Heavy Angst, Horror, Hurt Reece, Hurt/Comfort, Insomnia, Jealousy, M/M, Mental Anguish, Mental Breakdown, Partners to Lovers, Pining, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Prophetic Visions, Requited Love, Romance, SO MUCH Pining and Angst it's Unreal, Self-Destruction, Self-Hatred, Serial Killers, Suicidal Thoughts, Trope Bingo Round 12, Various forms of abuse, Wax to the Rescue, h/c_bingo
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-24
Updated: 2019-06-24
Packaged: 2020-05-19 02:56:52
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,581
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19348102
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Taste_of_Suburbia/pseuds/Taste_of_Suburbia
Summary: Every single one of them was like a knick in Reece’s skin, forever bleeding, alwaysaching,and there was no balm to calm his mind or remedy to still his vain physical wanderings and sleepless eccentricities, like taking a walk at two o’clock in the morning or shoving his face under a faucet until hot water turned cold or pressing himself at the back of a closet where no eyes could hold him.Reece and Wax are chasing after a serial killer when Reece hits rock bottom.





	don't leave me where i lay

**Author's Note:**

> This is a fill on my Trope Bingo [card](https://immolate-the-silence.dreamwidth.org/30129.html) for Fake Relationship, except it spiraled completely out of control until it was mostly pining and angst. ALL the pining and ALL the angst. 
> 
> This is also a fill on my h/c_bingo [card](https://immolate-the-silence.dreamwidth.org/34933.html) for the square Abuse. Without spoiling too much, there are many variations of abuse in this fic: self-abuse (both emotional and physical), physical assault, attempted sexual abuse, unintentional emotional abuse, abuse in the form of coercion (with the intent of not harming), the implied abuse of others (serial killers are abusive in many ways: societal, physical, emotional, etc.), as well as drug and alcohol abuse. Please note that there is no physical or verbal abuse between Reece and Wax and the emotional abuse is unintentional. 
> 
> **Series:** An Unquiet Mind
> 
>  **Series Background:** While this fic is set in the above series and thus, takes place in the Monsters & Hunters AU, it gives this world no more than a passing mention and focuses instead on Reece and Wax hunting down a serial killer. It does, however, include Reece’s prophetic visions, which are only starting to take a turn for the worst. Let’s face it, while these premonitions do help the two discover and solve cases, they probably end up causing just as much harm as they do good. 
> 
> **Warnings:** Attempted Rape, Physical Assault, Various forms of Abuse (Self-Abuse, Coercion and Unintentional Emotional Abuse), Drug and Alcohol Use/Abuse, Suicidal Ideation, Severe Depression, PTSD, Nervous Breakdown, Self-Hatred, Prophetic Visions, Insomnia, Dreams and Nightmares, Serial Killers, Major Pining and Angst
> 
>  **Soundtrack:** Title and lyrics are from Madonna’s ‘Don’t Tell Me.’ And, overachiever I am, I created a fanmix [HERE,](https://www.youtube.com/playlist?list=PLCILPNhunE0-gFEt_7DTVTLM_XXirS9Mr) which I also consider as a playlist for my series as a whole, and its cover art [HERE.](https://immolate-the-silence.dreamwidth.org/35683.html)

 

_~Tell me love isn’t true_

_It’s just something that we do_

_Tell me everything I’m not but…_

_Please don’t tell me to stop~_

* * *

 

There was little else in Reece’s world at that moment than laying in the bed he and his partner so conveniently shared and staring at said bedmate: Charlie Wax.

It was that time of the morning where the sun was just about to succeed in pushing the darkness out of its own stretch of sky, where Wax would wake him up with bright smiles and obnoxious catch-phrases and that happy go lucky personality, like the world couldn’t get at him no matter how hard it tried. And really, Reece would have given anything to have that outlook on life.

There was a lot enviable about Wax really, like how he was so tuned into his instincts that it seemed otherworldly at times, paired with how varied his skill set was, engaging in some new feat every other case or so that blew Reece’s mind, let alone throw everything he had come to expect and trust in right out the window. Wax did a lot of that too: jumping out of windows, scaling seriously tall buildings, having fifteen minute long shootouts and never seeming to run out of ammo.

He was like a god sometimes, such an incredibly tall and powerful figure that Reece had to shield his eyes from the sun every time he dared look up at who towered so confidently above him.

It was infuriating, amazing, breathtaking at times…

And he knew he never wanted another partner for as long as he lived.

For every part of Wax that was imposing and unreachable, he was just as much immature and easy to talk to, someone who would listen. For every time that Wax kept his cards as close to his chest as possible, which was pretty much always, he was equal parts protective and giving when Reece needed it the most. When he wanted to be, Charlie Wax could be kind and thoughtful and patient as he opened Reece up to the world around him and all its endless possibilities, all the things that were good despite the horror that seemed to overtake everything in their lives on a daily basis.

It was Wax that Reece clung to in the darkness, not hope, not self-confidence, not his own pale, ever-dimming light. Charlie Wax was the embodiment of it all.

Was it so outrageous that Reece should want  _every_ part of him, even the parts that Wax wasn’t so willing to give? 

There weren’t many mornings like this where Reece woke up before Wax, enough that Reece could count them on his fingers with some to spare, so he enjoyed the view while it lasted.

He must have spaced out for a while because Wax’s eyes were open the next moment he  _actually_ was aware that he was looking at them. Moreover, it seemed like his now suspiciously quiet bedmate had already said something and was waiting for an answer. 

“Reece?”

It didn’t feel like his name, somehow, and it didn’t feel like he was in his body either, just floating above the bed somewhere, immune to touch, drifting away from reality’s poison-tipped claws. Reece supposed several sleepless nights could do that to a person. He was tired,  _really_ tired, but no amount of forcing his eyes closed last night had done any good. He wondered if Wax knew, figured he must look like a wreck. 

But Wax was only staring at him,  _hard_ and analyzing like he had never seen him before and was sparing all the time in the world to take him in, yet also with this expression like he knew Reece so well and it made Reece’s chest tighten, because it was true. They’d been as intimate as partners could be without  _actually_ being intimate, had fought side-by-side and back-to-back, had slept in the same beds and ate together and shared the same cramped spaces when both their nerves were frayed and when they weren’t  _exactly_ their best selves. 

So was it really so out of the blue then for Reece to dream that they had more, to breathe it in like the most desperate plea to the same fucked up world they tried so selflessly to keep spinning on its axis, day by day, inch by heaving inch?

Then again, why couldn’t Reece just keep going, keep climbing, keep running, keep pushing himself until his wants had been honed down into mere  _needs:_ food and shelter and someone to have his back only to keep his body physically alive and for  _nothing_ else? 

Is that how he thought of Wax, as a robot? Only he wasn’t, he just didn’t seem to crave anything  _more._ A good meal, a decent bed, someone to talk to and tease on their endless expanse of treacherous, shadow-plagued road; that was all the great Charlie Wax needed. 

And Reece, never content with what he had, always wanting more, wanting justification and something  _more_ to look forward to, wanting some  _reward_ at the end of the day. It was so pathetic he couldn’t even open his mouth and disclose it to Wax, knowing he’d be shut down. 

In his life, he’d only ever pressed when he knew he was an asset, when he knew the answer wouldn’t be  _no_ but instead  _soon._ Instead,  _one more test and then you’re in._

It was possibly the greatest tragedy of his life that he never asked for anything unless he could be absolutely  _certain_ that the answer wouldn’t be  _no._

And he  _especially_ couldn’t fathom why he kept on hanging onto this  _one_ thing when he was nearly positive that the answer would be  _no, absolutely not, we’re partners you insane fuck._

So Reece didn’t spill his heart out, didn’t see it as a viable option and instead, just played along.

And he would play along until he couldn’t live it anymore.

So Reece didn’t think about Wax looking at him, didn’t think about what Wax expected of him. He was always doing just that, playing his part, trying  _always_ to be what Wax needed in a partner. He just laid there, not pulling in a breath, not feeling like he  _needed_ to pull in a breath. 

_Get out of bed! Get out of bed get out of bed get out of bed. Don’t just keep laying here just move! Just try to move…_

A loud crash of thunder and rain spilled against the windows. They were due in at headquarters in just under an hour, to give their  _separate_ reports on their last case, just one of many Reece didn’t want to dredge up. Technically, they both had to be there even though they hadn’t so much as separated once during the last few weeks. Technically, Reece didn’t give a fuck,  _couldn’t_ give a fuck about anything right now. He just stared, stared at Wax, without even really seeing him. 

Wax reached out, grasped his shoulder, fingers digging in until Reece drew in a long, painful breath and stirred, coughing and trying to sit up at the same time. He rubbed the back of his neck awkwardly - futilely warming chilled skin - and avoided Wax’s searching gaze at  _all_ costs. 

“Vision?”

Reece didn’t know what to do, trapped, screwed either way. If he lied and said yes, then he’d have to make up some bullshit and it wouldn’t hold long, given Wax could  _always_ see through his lies. If he told the truth it might be even worse. He’d have to lie then too, have to say he’d just been daydreaming or thinking too hard about something and Wax might drill him until he  _really_ caved. 

He could  _never_ cave. 

Charlie Wax didn’t  _love_ James Reece, he didn’t want to spend every waking moment with him and he didn’t want to hold hands or burrow into Reece’s chest, didn’t want to laugh at Reece’s nonexistent jokes until he kissed him to shut him up, didn’t want to wrap Reece in his arms and hold him through the visions and the memories, grounding him, reminding Reece that he  _was_ loved, that he wasn’t just a means to an end. 

And he didn’t want to know that all the above and more were exactly how Reece felt. They were already blades wielded against Reece, the tips of which were perilously sinking into his skin.

He  _was_ a means to an end, the visions an excuse for Wax to use his particular skill set to its fullest potential and to have the time of his life while doing what he did and loved  _best._

There was only room for Reece’s visions, only that spare bit of room in their bed for Reece, only room for Reece as long as he added to Wax’s pride and ego. As long as Reece was useful, as long as he could keep his head together.

And even that was only a matter of time; already Reece was starting to lose himself. When it wasn’t the visions or Wax or the rapidly passing time, it was Reece’s dwindling need to even want to keep a hold on reality. It was his loss of confidence and trust in himself and sleep and even  _sanity_ that was making him increasingly more likely to loosen his tether to the world. 

And it was always Wax who pulled him back, of course, to do the next job and the next and the next and the next until Reece wouldn’t be emotionally or physically able to do anymore.

Then there would be no more worrying, no more fear, no more  _pining_ after Wax like a lovestruck  _idiot_ …

“Reece!” Wax’s exasperated shout jolted him out of his head. The look on his partner’s face told him he had repeated it more than once.

He easily slid back into the role he had meticulously constructed for himself. “We’re going to be late if we don’t get a move on,” he informed calmly, slipping his nearest watch on the dresser onto his wrist, relieved when he didn’t fumble with it. He’d forgo a shower this morning and just brush his teeth, he settled on as he made his way to the bathroom. As soon as he was done, Wax slipped into the bathroom, shoving Reece out the rest of the way, and slammed the door behind him.

Reece didn’t turn around to stare at the door, didn’t sit near the window and watch the rain, didn’t do anything but pace in place and let his mind be consumed by relating the details of the case they had just wrapped up over and over and over, until there was no room in his head for regret or want or anything at all that would make him liable to  _break._

* * *

 

_[Some time earlier…]_

Reece had frequented  _plenty_ of bars and nightclubs during his freshman year of college. Granted, most of them had been on campus or close by, but Reece had still partied and  _lived_ for most of that first year, when naively all he had seen laid before him were endless possibilities and an endgame as bright as he could possibly construct it. 

Did Reece miss this scene when his studying picked up and he worked himself to the bone on papers and internships and sucking up, mostly the latter? Hell no. It was never his scene to begin with. Reece had never been that plucky, social butterfly type, had preferred to keep to himself and work hard rather than play hard. It had done him wonders in the end, giving him a leg and a half up on anyone nipping at his heels.

And then he had gone and wanted too much and took a more rigorous, challenging path and the hallucinations or  _visions_ started, and Reece didn’t understand who he was or  _what_ he was meant to be outside of the agency’s severely limited viewpoint, but he knew that this was never the life he had wanted for himself. 

And he also knew that, cruelly, there were no options for him left.

The same, however, couldn’t be said for his partner.

Watching Wax flirt with his latest catch half a room away was  _not_ how he wanted to remember this night. Wax’s hands were caressing toned skin, casually moving to places Reece didn’t want to think about, mouth inches from a bared neck and laughter bubbling up just before his partner pulled away from her ear and shifted his gaze. 

Reece turned away quickly, sipping at his drink, eyes scanning the crowd.

_Don’t forget that you’re establishing your characters,_ he reminded himself for the fifteenth time in the last eight minutes. 

He forced himself to move through the sweating, swaying mass of bodies crowding more and more in on him before Wax shot him another disappointed,  _get with it, we’re working here_ glare. Scoping out a sociopath in a crowded, disorienting place full of illegal and legal though no less mild-altering substances was probably  _not_ the best course of action, but Wax was ever the agent who would jump head first into the deadliest situation without thinking about the consequences. 

_Usually,_ Reece also reminded himself,  _it works. It works to the point where I don’t get killed and I don’t fuck up_ too  _bad and we solve the case and celebrate and move onto the next._

_But doesn’t good luck_ eventually  _run out?_

Reece told himself to stop being such an idiot and  _work,_ with that little annoying, unsympathetic Wax voice, so he did. He inhaled the body odor and the cheap alcohol and allowed the heady thump of the bass to pour into his veins just as potently as any shot would. 

But he’d  _only_ indulge enough to blend in, not to wake up having been passed out in some back alley with his clothes off and his mind blank with coke stains on his jacket and tie.

* * *

 

It was the eighth night with no leads and Reece wasn’t sure how long he could keep up with the daytime sleeping and the persistent ringing in his ears and the increasing alcohol consumption, Wax handing him a drink every fifteen minutes or so and Reece having to pretty much beg off as soon as the sun was up.

Was he becoming an alcoholic? A coke head? ‘Cause yeah, Wax had started pushing that on him too, starting the third night, and Reece hardly had viable reasons to refuse with Wax around.

Wax just didn’t want to slow down. Sure, it wasn’t like they could sit on their asses in their newest shitty motel room until Reece finally got another vision, and Reece knew the endless nightclubs were a way to trigger another vision, but for one night Reece just wanted  _off_ . He wanted to do anything but get drunk and get high and flirt with girls that he wasn’t attracted to and that he didn’t have time for. And mostly, he’d didn’t want to obsess over Wax the entire night, trying to keep up with the dizzying array of girls he was hooking up with and praying that he wouldn’t take one of them back to their room. 

Reece wasn’t jealous, really he  _wasn’t_ , but he was  _pissed_ because Wax never took anything seriously. Any job where he could bend the rules a little, take the edge off as he liked to tease, but it wasn’t all fun and games for Reece. There was a real terror of getting pushed too far over the edge, both figuratively  _and_ literally. He knew that Wax kept as close a eye on him as Reece kept on Wax, like it or not, but it wasn’t much of a comfort considering that Wax was the one pushing and pushing and pushing and Reece felt like he was standing on the edge of this gaping black hole, already practically over the precipice, nothing to grab hold of should he start falling…

His nose was throbbing at the latest hit and he rubbed it incessantly, trying to ease the burn. Reality filtered in and once again, Reece had no idea how much time had passed. He was stretched out on a couch in some dark room, hovering over a glass-topped table and trying to ignore his hazy reflection. He stared down at the generous lines of white powder instead, counting them and counting them and inevitably ending up with no fixed number. As the noise around him increased, the voices came into sharper focus also, increasing in volume and multitude until he realized the room was  _packed_ and he was directly in the middle of it all. Bodies pushed and pulled against him, fighting for purchase on the couch, occasionally falling over onto him when they lost their balance. Reece’s hands were tingling, vision alternating between double,  _triple,_ and he didn’t feel the slightest bit attached to his body… 

When a hand clapped onto his shoulder and remained there he nearly flew out of the room and the nightclub altogether, except every move he made was sluggish and as soon as he peered up, blinking past the haze in his head and the thick cigarette smoke clouding the room, sickening and cloying and only worsening the burn in his throat and nose and head, an all too familiar shaved head swam into view.

“Let’s ease back on the coke some, okay?”

Something dripped onto his hand and Reece looked down slowly, every shift taking minutes too long as his mind cranked back to life, fighting as it waded through confusion and panic, trying to catch up.

The drop was red and Reece just stared, hand coming up to cup his nose, eyes burning from the smoke and someone accidentally head-butting him and Wax pulling him up and out of the room too quickly.

“Wax…”

Wax’s hand tightened on his arm as he steered him to an even darker, quieter place. “He’s here,” he whispered in Reece’s ear, and everything in Reece so completely froze that it was a wonder he could still keep moving.

They didn’t quite make it wherever Wax was intending. At one moment Wax was pulling him along and at another he tensed, to Reece barely visible and entirely forgotten if not for the rigid set of his arms yet the minute tremble of his hands as they cupped Reece’s face and pushed him backward quickly though still gently against a wall, Reece’s back having the most impact but his head having little to none thanks to Wax grasping it roughly and holding him in place.

Reece vaguely remembered where they were before Wax’s mouth was enclosing his, kissing him sloppily and heatedly yet not carelessly nor mindlessly, concentrating solely on that kiss and on nothing else. Reece just rolled with it because it was so _easy_ to pretend that Wax wasn’t covering them, wasn’t reminding Reece to play his part, wasn’t completely uninterested in his partner when it came to  _this_ aspect of their partnership. 

He went with it, not fighting against it, not struggling for control, just letting Wax’s hands fervently run through his hair, grasping it, tugging it like he was trying to get Reece’s blood boiling, ready for what should have come next if this wasn’t just acting, if this wasn’t just their  _job._

Wax’s hands smoothed his sides, alternately pinching and rubbing skin, warming Reece up in a way he’d never get from a coat or a blanket. They didn’t stop there. Next those hands were at Reece’s belt, fumbling for half a  _glorious, heart-pounding, amazing_ second and then they were gone, then Wax straightened his jacket and barely looked about him before heading off into a men’s bathroom and Reece followed, five steps behind. 

Wax was standing at the mirror, waiting for Reece, waiting for him to close and lock the door and then Reece sighed and deflated. He procured two paper towels, dabbing at his nose delicately before joining him. His partner took the paper towels and instructed him to stand still with nothing more than a hard stare.

“You knew it before I did,” Wax reminded him or got him up to speed, whatever truth he did or didn’t know. “That’s why you kicked it up a notch on the blow.”

_Had he?_ Reece fought painfully to remember.  _Did I really recognize the man, that_ killer  _from my vision in that room I’d just been in, that room no doubt Wax had_ put _me in?_

He shivered at realizing how close they had gotten. No wonder he’d tried to blend in and no wonder Wax had noticed something was wrong and started paying attention to Reece and the room instead of to his latest  _girl_ , had moved through the crowd until he was squeezing and pushing his way through to Reece, a hand caressing his knee…

Was that all he could recall; just Wax’s hands on him and nothing else?

“I think I’m done with all this, Wax. The drugs and the alcohol. I’m more of a wine guy, if you know what I mean,” he rambled. Wax let him but didn’t say anything. He was dabbing at Reece’s nose despite the dried blood,  _Reece’s_ own dried blood, smearing Wax’s own lips and chin. Reece winced and took the cleanest paper towel from him again, relieved when no more blood came out of his nose. He ran the paper towel under water quickly and handed it to Wax, who cleaned his face in one swipe. 

“Should’ve known our man would frequent a gay bar. Pervert.”

Reece’s blood stuttered and froze and then moved sluggishly through his veins like  _ice._

* * *

 

And now the nightclubs had shifted into Reece’s plush SUV, Reece trying not to fidget in the passenger seat as Wax adjusted his binoculars, scanning the back alley they were parked a hundred or so feet from.

“Are you nervous or something?” Wax asked, not sparing him a glance.

Reece rolled his eyes and shoved his fingers into his armpits, not that it helped much. “No,” he sulked, trying not to think of how nice a shot of something would be right now, even just a sip. Aftereffects of the substances; he hadn’t exactly  _eased_ himself off them and Wax  _knew_ it. 

“Just chill your roll a bit, yeah?” Reece realized just how much he was bouncing his foot and stopped indignantly _._ “There’s a bottle of vodka with your name on it when we get back.”

And that was partly what Reece was afraid of.

* * *

 

Everything spiraled out of control faster than Reece could snap his fingers - if it hadn’t already - because Reece was in too deep, so  _deep_ that his world became a haze of want and  _need_ and a longing so sharp it could slice him open with one cut, sending him down to his knees clawing at his throat for air, and a desperation so keen on having him fuck up his whole life and everything and everyone around him. 

That was the thing with the cases they picked up on from Reece’s visions: they were never cut and dry, never like a bad penny you could just pick up and then toss away.

Wax might as well have had  _eons_ more experience at this than he, with how quickly he washed his hands and moved on. Sure, give him a day or two or a drink or five if he didn’t have that luxury, but Reece could count on one hand the times Wax had brought up a previous case. 

Every single one of them was like a knick in Reece’s skin, forever bleeding, always  _aching_ , and there was no balm to calm his mind or remedy to still his vain physical wanderings and sleepless eccentricities, like taking a walk at two o’clock in the morning or shoving his face under a faucet until hot water turned cold or pressing himself at the back of a closet where no eyes could hold him. There was no escape from the visions or the memories of the visions or the nightmares courtesy of the visions they had long since wrapped up. There was no reprieve from the burn of the alcohol down his searing throat or the longing for another hit of coke that wouldn’t help him in the  _least_ bit. 

And there was no  _not_ thinking about Wax; it was either a blessing or a curse and when it was the former, Reece knew full well it  _needed_ to be the latter. 

Wax didn’t suspect anything, didn’t peer at him closer than he should, didn’t probably even care.

And Reece… like the alcohol and the drugs and the pills… was spiraling right down the drain.

* * *

 

_[Present…]_

If Wax was sharp and angry before, he was quiet and sulking now; at least, until he started up with his complaining again. It made Reece relax a little because if Wax was complaining then he didn’t have room to be mad at Reece, or to analyze him.

“I swear, if those pricks in there don’t call us in in one more minute, I am going to go in there myself,  _strangle_ them and suspend their asses from the ceiling.”

Reece would have laughed, if he wasn’t still bristling and embarrassed - mostly the latter - from this morning. “Yeah, well, I doubt our reports will be  _favorable_ after that.”

Shit, he shouldn’t have said anything, or maybe it was  _what_ he had said because Wax looked over at him, studying him again. Reece tried not to fidget but really, what the hell else was he  _supposed_ to do when Wax was drilling a hole into his head? “You wanna talk about something, Reece?”

“No,” he spat out, avoiding Wax’s gaze  _again._

“Really?” Wax played along. “‘Cause I get the feeling that something’s crawled up your ass and sure as shit wants to get out.”

Reece slouched further down in his chair, crossing his arms even though it painted him as nothing more than a stubborn, petulant child. “Really eloquent, Wax.”

Wax turned and moved closer within a blink of an eye and Reece  _almost_ would have taken off if he didn’t trust his partner with his  _life._ Moreover, Wax could push him as much as he liked but he couldn’t make Reece cave. No one but Reece could do that. 

His partner opened his mouth again but that was it. He didn’t have time to berate Reece before the door directly in front of them opened and Wax was ushered inside.

That was another thing: as much as Reece may have wanted to run, away from Wax, away from his imminent report, he never would. There was something in Wax that exerted a magnetic pull, that had Reece following forever after him like a lovesick puppy.

James Reece was chained, forever doomed, until life or Wax or the agency tossed him aside as nothing more than a hollow shell.

Which one it would end up being was the hundred dollar question.

* * *

 

“May 2nd. 8:02 am. James Reece. Latest report.”

Reece was surprised at the rushed introduction. “Is that it? Are we having the abridged version today?”

A warning glare. “It’s been a long week, Agent Reece. Shall we?”

Reece shrugged. “Alright. As long as none of this is taken out of context.” Stupid words, considering he had little say in the matter. The agency, much like the current state of journalism, could spin his and Wax’s words any way they wanted to. Like a lot of things considering his employer, it was better not to spare more than a few seconds  _really_ dwelling on it. “Same as it always goes, I guess. I had a vision, no more than five seconds.” By Wax’s count actually, considering Reece’s head being exposed to new, unintelligible assaults to his five senses didn’t leave much room for said victim of those visions to keep track of time. 

“It was about two in the afternoon. Our killer… I mean, I assumed because of the bodies and the…,”  _blood, the way the victims smelled and the way their limbs were splayed, broken bones and the distorted angles of their fingers and brutally skinned knees, the dirt coating their intact skin and hair pulled out in chunks and burned patches of flesh, the hand prints and bruises and teeth marks and pale, dead skin and the fear and terror just before they died, suffocating, clawing, scratching, screaming…_ he cleared his throat. “Most of what I saw was at a nightclub, not the killings obviously, but Wax figured it was where he found his… victims.”

“Girls?”

“Yes, from what I saw. Except for the last victim.” And later, from what he and Wax had both seen in the dumpsters… only his last victim had been still  _relatively_ intact. 

“And the name of the club? I’m aware it took you and your partner several tries?”

Reece swallowed and nodded. “Fiendish Escapades.” He’d usually elaborate more than that, give details and even opinions if they were warranted, but all he wanted to give today was the  _bare_ minimum, to just get through it and never have to repeat it or  _think_ about it _._ ever. again. 

His superior didn’t look like he was about to argue.

“We waited for another vision but it never came, so Wax and I went to a different club every night.” He didn’t mention that Wax followed Reece’s recollection of his vision without question, never pushing for more details, trusting Reece to tell him everything they needed and letting him leave out all the gory and fucked up bits, if he even  _knew_ about those. 

“And what did the two of you do?”

Reece swallowed again, saliva thick and building quickly, and shifted in his chair. He’d always felt claustrophobic in this room but  _never_ so much as this moment. It was those stupid nightclubs. Reece was so used to being out in the open, out on the streets, in alleyways and in crowded but vastly open spaces where he could breathe and reach out and touch the sky. Either that or in shitty hotel rooms or even shittier apartments with just him and Wax and no one else. The change as of late was probably why he took more walks than he actually slept, yet always close to the apartment or within sight of the agency. 

The shifting was a telltale sign that he was uncomfortable, that he would try to hide something, but he couldn’t help it and the man they had sent in today to collect his report had  _definitely_ noticed it. “I remind you, Agent Reece, that the faster and smoother this goes the better it is for everyone involved.”

Reece took several deep, calming breaths and nodded. “We dressed down and pretended to be partners.”

“…Partners?”

Reece cleared his throat. “Real life partners. As in… holding hands and frequenting bars and…”  _making out until I actually almost_ deluded  _myself into thinking that Wax wanted it, wanted me, wanted_ us. 

“Ah,” Reece’s superior noted and scribbled on his pad for several long moments, leaving Reece to wring his hands in distress, wanting to be anywhere else but here. He wondered how Wax was putting this, wondered how hard he was laughing and how lightly he was jesting about it and yet how much emphasis he was putting in his threats to the agency never to speak of it again. It wasn’t exactly the best skill to put on a resume.

And yet… maybe it was, maybe it was proof of how far Wax would go when the situation warranted it, of how he’d never let his  _emotions_ get in the way. 

He wondered if Wax ever even thought about how Reece felt, how one stupid decision that they viewed as a necessity for the case had screwed Reece up so completely that he doubted he’d ever recover from it. It had gone on for three measly weeks.

And Reece wanted it to go on for three weeks more, three years, a  _lifetime_ more. 

This was what happened when the whole beautiful daydream of Wax kissing him, hands eagerly on him, shoving him against a wall like there was no stopping him became an  _actual_ reality without actually being reality at all. 

He kept talking, explaining, hoping the more he talked the less obvious it would be just how much the  _pretend_ had affected him. “Wax thought it would give us an in, pretend to be gay and blend in, once we decided to try  _that_ kind of nightclub, I mean.”  _Wax’s idea,_ all  _Wax’s idea._ Sure, it had gotten him away from the girls,  _mostly,_ except for those  _two,_ but it turned out that getting the one thing you wanted most was actually  _worse_ than never getting it at all. “Thought we could find him and lure him in, somehow, but…”  _it went too far._

“But what?”

“It almost didn’t work,” Reece settled on.

The recorder was paused and his superior sighed, clearly intent to wrap this up in as neat a bow as possible, wrap up  _Reece’s_ life, Reece’s problems, Reece’s  _mistakes_ . “I trust you’ve been medically treated  _and_ gone through psych evaluation?”

Reece nodded adamantly, not about to mention how his psyche had taken a  _far_ more brutal being than his physical body and how one stupid evaluation had done nothing, in the slightest, to help. 

_And Wax actually wanted me to_ talk _, to_ him, Reece scoffed. 

The recorder resumed. “So, you’re satisfied that this case is closed?”

A pause: short, minuscule,  _horrible._ “Yes.”

“Agent Reece, this evaluation is complete. Please remain near at hand should we have any further questions. Dismissed.”

A mere blink and the agency man was gone, having left Reece alone in a small room with a closed door and gray walls and a lone window with bars where outside it the sun wasn’t shining and the world was  _always_ waiting and Reece wasn’t certain about anything anymore. 

Only certain about how he couldn’t keep on like this, on how the universe would eventually throw him even further off kilter, damning him one way or another.

Only certain that it already  _had._

_It’s gone too far,_ Reece had told himself as he was thrown savagely against the wall, the killer they  _had_ been hunting chuckling darkly, breathing hotly, wetly against the backs of his thighs and then the back of his neck, fingernails scrabbling for purchase at his throat, Reece’s shirt already torn off -  _when had that happened?_ \- and his jeans already nearly at his ankles. 

Centuries old vampires he could deal with, werewolves he could deal with, sirens and succubi and slithering, secretive mermaids he could handle, and yet he came to pieces all at the feet of just one man, a serial killer no less but still, just a  _human,_ weak, vulnerable, easy to kill. 

And yet he couldn’t think, couldn’t act, couldn’t  _breathe_ …

Something inside him had snapped, something vital, depleting him of the energy he needed to care, to fight back, to  _live…_

_It’s gone too far,_ Reece had cried, voice hoarse even when it was merely in his head as hands started choking him, as he pushed back before the terror numbed him completely. He slipped on the rain-soaked pavement and the man dragged him down the rest of the way  _down down down to my grave_ and hands cruelly took Reece’s head and slammed it into the ground until Reece saw blinding pinpoints of light and not those little birds like in the cartoons, until Reece felt that night’s worth of overpriced liquor come racing up through his throat to splatter his hands, until he blacked out for a second and… 

_It’s gone too far,_ Reece had almost managed to scream as he was flipped over onto his back and as hands  _not Wax’s not Wax’s not Wax’s_ tore at his belt and at his navel  _in his fury his lust his desperation_ . Reece, swallowing down the searing pain, forcing himself to remain locked in his suffering body, managed to bite down on the fingers inside his mouth and the next impact of his head against the concrete was more violent and Reece lost more precious seconds because the most he should be expected to do was breathe  _just breathe and float and be somewhere else anywhere else… No! Fight, you idiot, you coward, you… move move move!_

_It’s gone too far,_ Reece had choked out past the tears and snot and vomit and blood all mingling grossly in his mouth, probably unintelligible as Wax had pulled him upright and held him close; as Wax had tucked Reece against him even tighter when Reece, confused,  _broken_ , scrabbled to drag himself away; as Wax had wrapped Reece up in some thin, grating jacket yet still offered careful, tender hands that soothed his sides before finally resting there gently. 

Nothing had happened, Wax had told him and Wax wouldn’t lie, not about this, but Reece was so fucked up that night he couldn’t tell the difference. He’d been degraded all the same, touched by that vile monster, cruel hands and horrid breath and tainted blood forever mixed in with Reece’s own DNA.

And maybe Wax didn’t get it, except for the relief in his eyes and the way he was always up in Reece’s space and how his face tightened whenever he bit back words, like he wasn’t sure what would set Reece off and suddenly  _cared_ about that. 

But somehow, despite how fucked up all of it was, despite how pitiable and ridiculous Reece had truly become, he wouldn’t really trade anything else in the world for the memory of Wax holding him in his arms, clutching him against his chest like a long lost precious thing, breathing words into Reece’s ear, hand pressed against Reece’s heart stilling him and slowing his heartbeat down and the words, so ragged and desperate and not nearly enough and yet, somehow, exactly the strings that held him intact…

_I know I know I know I know._

* * *

 

Whatever Wax had told in his report, Reece would never get up the guts to ask. It wasn’t like he had much of a chance to read him either, not with Wax making himself scarce for most of the next few weeks.

It wouldn’t be the first time he’d lied through his teeth in a report and it probably wouldn’t be the last either. Reece had taken to doing the same, usually deliberately withholding information instead of blatantly lying, assuming he wasn’t good at it anyway, but it all amounted to the same.

It was just one of the many ways in which he had changed since Wax had - quite literally - crashed into his naive, hopeful existence.

They were partners and they protected each other, no matter the cost. It was the only time Reece ever believed that Wax cared for him more than he did the agency. Either that or his track record had been too good to ignore lately, Reece some type of handy good luck charm that didn’t cause him too much trouble.

So the weeks after the  _incident_ they laid low like they always did in the breaks in between cases, only this time they separated without so much as words between them. Reece didn’t leave their apartment more than a handful of times, tried to read, watch TV, even shop for much needed groceries, but nothing could set his mind at ease, nothing could distract him for more than a few minutes at a time. 

He’d be in a grocery store barely two blocks from their apartment, staring at a box of cookies on the snack food aisle or scanning the frozen food boxes behind their glass partitions, and then the world would dissolve around him.

_Hands at his throat, fingernails clawing at already broken skin, a power wielded over him that he can’t comprehend, tearing down all of his carefully constructed barriers and exposing his deepest, most desperate fears and aches and longings._

_And the knowledge that if Wax could see him like this he wouldn’t want to save him._

_The moment you’re too much trouble he’ll ditch you. Without a thought. Without a care._

_And you wouldn’t blame him._

_Except I_ love  _him. Charlie_ goddamn  _Wax._

_And he could_ never  _love me._

It rarely went further than this, never crossed as far as to the physical pain, the fireworks exploding in his head like needles shooting down from an unforgiving sky, the scrape of his knees against wet blacktop, the torrent of bile rising up his throat intent to choke him to death.

He started stocking up on nonperishable foods so he wouldn’t have to go back to the store much after that.

Reece thought about the  _before_ a lot, about how he could have done things differently, but every course of action led him toward the same result, a nightmarish loop worse than any vision. This wasn’t something he could prevent, this had already happened, to  _him_ , and he couldn’t reverse it couldn’t stop living it couldn’t close his eyes or turn the corner and have it  _not_ be there. 

And then, as hallucinatory hours turned into sleepless nights, he thought about ways out: a gun to his temple, in his mouth, square at the base of his skull. There were moments where his fingers didn’t shake, where he  _could_ pull the trigger, didn’t have to come to some epic conclusion in his head, bullshit reasons for his decision, but he never did. It would be a stupid and selfish move. They had caught the guy, Wax ‘quickly disposing of the problem,’ as the agency had described it, ‘quickly’ killing him in the interests of taking care of his partner. 

What more could Reece want?

Release. Reprieve. Maybe an hour where he didn’t have to think about it or relive it. Something to get him out of his head, something that wasn’t alcohol or drugs or pills. Not that he was necessarily addicted to any one of those things in particular. He kept his intake on each small and infrequent on the off chance that his fears and insecurities would be heightened to a point of no return, then he pretty much flushed what was left of them, but that didn’t mean he hadn’t weighed the possibilities and consequences of taking more for long hours when Wax wasn’t around, and most of the time he was nowhere to be found.

_He’s only a phone call away. Just pick up the goddamn phone…_

_No._

If Reece was anything other than a complete fucked up mess, he was  _stubborn_ . 

It infuriated Wax at the best of times and clearly he didn’t want to deal with it now, hence his absence. But Reece knew that if he called Wax would pick up the phone, that he would listen even if he needed to talk for hours.

Reece didn’t know  _how_ he knew this but he  _did._

Maybe because Wax had never turned him away before.

But if Reece talked, if he worked himself up to that moment, then he would disclose  _all_ the horrors of his heart: his visions molding him into someone he didn’t want to be, shredding away all the parts of himself he had long depended upon; his frequent desperation to end his life, which he saw as an inevitable decline and demise; and yet his hope that there was a way out of all this, a light at the end of the tunnel, if only by  _loving Wax_ . 

And the rejection was  _not_ something Reece would survive. 

So maybe this was the end of the road.

Reece tried not to think about it, burrowing under cold sheets, listening to the intrusive city just outside the window, the cars and the sirens and the shouting, and he tried to pretend that Wax wasn’t somewhere out there in all that chaos and noise but just in the other room, watching TV or lovingly cleaning Mrs. Jones or buried in his laptop or in a stack of ancient tomes, just a raised voice away.

He tried not to think about a  _lot_ of things.

* * *

 

Reece had gotten so used to not having Wax around in the mornings that for the first time, he  _didn’t_ look for him. 

And what a mistake that was on his part.

“Reece, if you’re so bent out of shape about the whole dick thing…”

Hearing this over breakfast, over his long gone soggy bowl of cereal was  _not_ Reece’s way to start a morning. When Wax shuffled into their crappy mini kitchen, Reece imagined he’d just get a cup of coffee and chill over a newspaper or something, not actually try to get Reece talking about the  _last_ possible thing he wanted to discuss. 

Reece would have choked on a spoonful if he hadn’t been pushing it around his bowl for the past fifteen minutes. “Wow, Wax. Good morning to you too.” He had cut Wax off well before he could finish that sentence because he couldn’t possibly hear from Wax’s own mouth that it didn’t mean anything. That none of it, not the kissing or the groping or the trying to get into Reece’s pants meant  _anything_ . If that was how they were going to close the case between them:  _oh, hey, Reece, it sure as hell didn’t mean anything so get your head out of your ass about it,_ then Reece was better off with just silence. “That’s completely  _not_ what I’m thinking about. Or have  _ever_ thought about,” he added, trying to hide himself in his coffee.  _Liar liar, you complete goddamn_ liar. 

“‘Cause if it made you all flustered,” Wax went on as if Reece weren’t in the room at all and he was just spewing some speech he had rehearsed - and not long enough - in front of the mirror. “Well, I mean,” he motioned with his coffee cup to nothing in particular and Reece just stared, spoon dropping into his bowl, wondering what the hell he was watching and why Wax was even trying  _at all_ . Wax didn’t have speeches like this, awkward speeches where he tiptoed and stuttered and looked at Reece with this expression like Reece should already know what he was going to say. “That’s completely natural. And I was thinking….”

Reece cut him off again, rising and dumping his bowl into the sink, cereal slopping over the edges. His back was facing Wax and that was the absolute  _best_ he could do. “Wax, please,  _stop._ You don’t…,” he broke off, desperately wishing that Wax would bite back entirely what he had been planning on saying, words that wouldn’t mean anything and would bring him nothing but further agony. “I can’t talk about this right now.”  _I can’t talk about this_ ever. 

“Then let me just say it’s not worth you getting upset over. I only did what I absolutely had to.”

Reece froze, still leaning over the sink, still facing away from Wax and  _is this whole room getting smaller and smaller or is it just me? Are the walls cracking, the ceiling crumbling, the sun blinding…?_

He rubbed his face in anguish, nose burning again as he remembered the one snort of coke too far, when everything was riding on him playing it cool  _just like always_ and then bouncing right goddamn back. When Wax had taken his sweat-soaked,  _disgusting_ hands and pulled him out of that room he so hated and minutes later had dabbed Reece’s nose so tenderly in that sleazy bathroom, half of his face caked in Reece’s blood from when they had kissed - when everything had snapped into place for one awe-inspiring,  _I have it all in the palm of my hand_ moment - and Wax hadn’t even cared. 

And in those moments… those dizzying moments where Wax had scooped him up and crumpled him into this needy, desperate ball, tucked safely beside Wax’s own heart, kissing Reece,  _treasuring him…_ it was enough to drive him crazy and keep him there. Reece had been unable to recall any time in his life where he had wanted anything so badly and yet felt so completely safe and so entirely  _not_ foolish for desiring it. When Wax’s heart was thundering against his own chilled skin, reminding Reece that he was still there, underneath that skin, no longer numb, still alive enough to  _want_ . When Wax’s sweaty palms captured him, securing him in his hold, his eyes… his eyes a wicked blaze of fire lighting up Reece’s very existence, his own soul. When Wax sank lower, shaved head caressing Reece’s chest, his belly, mouth already at his zipper, mouthing Reece’s already too tight pants, the eager opening between his two trembling legs. 

When Wax had yanked himself away, gaze stubbornly turned from Reece, like someone in the background had yelled cut and Reece had been no more than a prop for Wax to work his way on.

How could someone feel so alive and safe and so freaking lucky and then have it ripped away from him not ten seconds later? To soar so high and then fall so far, to have such purpose again and then be left with nothing but emptiness?

He had wanted to fold himself up against that wall, to sink down to that dingy, stained carpet and never get back up again. It was like someone had ripped out his heart and there was only a flicker left, a flicker left of  _something_ , and that something had led to him chasing after Wax. 

Had he really become that desperate?

_Yes._

Because the visions were a  _curse_ , because he could help people,  _save_ people but he could never be  _free_ , never be at peace with himself. Because Wax was the only thing he had left to hold onto in a world that was cold and cruel and sometimes little more than a perverted joke. 

Because Wax always had a smile and a laugh and a joke for everything, because he made Reece feel like he was worth something, aside from the visions, aside from the agency, aside from  _just_ being a partner. 

_Does one really need an explanation… to love?_

_Love is love._

_And I love_ Wax. 

As much as he hated to be treated like a child, being kept in the dark by Wax, forever trudging off after Wax, it was the only time he ever got any sort of wanted attention from him so he  _did_ it. 

Because Wax  _did_ care, he knew that, he just didn’t care in  _that_ way. He didn’t care enough to never bait Reece with the one thing he wanted  _most._ It was just a joke to him really and Reece never wanted to hear it mentioned again. 

And now, he didn’t turn. He  _couldn’t_ turn. All he could do was prevent his fingers from curling against the counter-top, which would only betray just how mad, how hurt, how  _betrayed_ he felt. “Are we done here?”

Getting angry was a  _thousand_ times better than breaking. 

Wax was closer. Reece could hear the coffeepot sliding back into its place, an excuse for Wax to  _be_ closer. “You tell them the truth?”

“Of course,” Reece said, words coming too easy, the bitterness in them coming even easier. “It was what the case necessitated. Nothing more. It worked. It worked too well,” he barely choked out the last two words, bile rising in his throat at the not distant enough memory. “Whatever it takes, right?” He knew he shouldn’t be playing back Wax’s jesting words, not like this, that he shouldn’t rub in Wax’s face that he was okay that they’d had to resort to  _this._ Wax  _had_ apologized; sure, it may not have been a  _real_ , honest to god apology, it may not have broken through the chaos in Reece’s head in any  _meaningful_ way, but at least he had said  _something_ . 

And he shouldn’t be blaming Wax for it, for  _any_ of it. This was their job. This was no doubt why Reece got his premonitions in the first place. This was what they had vowed to do together as partners with mere words  _and_ on paper. 

Signing away his soul, his right to feel  _anything_ …

“Then that’s it then?”

Reece started chewing at his hangnail until blood welled up under his skin, until the half-second pinch of pain reminded him of all that he could endure. He intently watched the gray mush of his once cereal spiral down the drain. “That’s it.”

* * *

 

Sometimes Reece would dream of Wax, so deep down where none of his fears or doubts could reach, where he was stronger both in mind and in body, where he was confident in himself and his abilities and where Wax couldn’t keep his hands, especially his mouth, off of him.

There were dreams where Reece wasn’t this broken, fragile thing holding onto the latest case like a drowning spider.

Wax wasn’t words then but he was all touch and warmth and smiles, a weight that didn’t pull him up where he didn’t want to go but held him down where he wanted to stay. He was like a sappy love song melded into Reece’s subconscious, stitched into his skin, mixed in with his heart until there was nothing separating the two.

And then the loud crash of thunder and the high pitched screaming clawing at the walls that held Reece’s dream and the blood spilling in through the cracks and flooding the room within two blinks and Reece being thrown back into darkness and thrashing and screaming himself, trying to get away...

_Don’t don’t don’t don’t don’t don’t don’t don’t don’t!!!!!_

And the moment he realized he was  _actually_ screaming was the moment he  _crumbled._ Hands were immediately thrown up to shield his face, hands cold and damp and trembling, bare feet on icy tile, sending violent tremors up his legs. 

He prayed that Wax wasn’t there, wanted him to be there, wanted him to be all these things that he wasn’t, that he couldn’t be.

He didn’t know how long he sat there, shaking like a leaf about to be yanked away by the wind, mumbling occasionally ‘ _don’t_ . _’_

_Don’t what? Don’t leave me? Don’t come any closer, don’t touch me, don’t be here right now. Please. Don’t. Don’t leave me don’t leave me don’t push me don’t leave me don’t leave me don’t push me away…_

_Don’t come any closer._

“Reece?” God, the voice was strained but what did it mean?  _What does it mean what does it mean what does it mean?_ “Reece, you need to get up off the floor now, okay? Will you let me help?”

The strength in Reece’s voice surprised him. “No.” A beat, waiting for his sanity to meld back together. “I can do it.” He did, on shaky legs he rose and collapsed against the wall, judged the distance to the bed and figured he’d be able to make it without making himself into more of a fool. Wax was closer to the bed, terror in his eyes that was barely suppressed, pity written in the hard lines of his face that Reece didn’t deserve nor need, and Reece knew he needed to explain. “It was a dream,” he urged. “Just a bad dream.”  _It wasn’t, it was the_ best  _dream. And it was_ just  _a dream._ He couldn’t form the word nightmare, he couldn’t quite form  _that_ lie.  _Just a dream, just a dream just a dream._ “I just need to lay down.” And he did, five steps to the bed and he  _crashed,_ stretching out on it, hugging his pillow. 

Time passed, seconds or hours, until Wax was in front of him and holding a pill bottle and shaking it and for a long moment, Reece could have sworn it was his heart inside that bottle, rattling around, slammed into its tight, claustrophobic corners…

_Medication? I’ve gone crazy…_

“Aspirin,” Wax corrected, curling two into Reece’s palm.

Reece didn’t remember swallowing, but he couldn’t recall anything for a long,  _long_ time after that.

* * *

 

“We need to talk, Reece.”

Probably the words Reece dreaded the most, though he supposed he should thank Wax for not sending him in for another psych evaluation, one that might actually get him committed.

“Right,” he half-heartedly agreed. It was probably the nicest gesture Wax had ever made, but it didn’t mean that Reece had to like it or want to commit to actually talking to the _one_ person he really didn’t want to disclose all his dirty, shameful secrets to. “You’re talking about the painkillers?” Whether Wax knew he wasn’t still drinking or using, he had no idea, but he didn’t want to bring it up. The painkillers, on the other hand, were the only thing that held the worst of the headaches at bay. 

Granted, the ones accompanying the visions could never be eased.

Wax’s face darkened somewhat. “Addiction’s your own preoccupation, Reece. I know how hard you worked to get off the blow and you’ll work just as hard to get off those damn painkillers, but at this point you  _need_ them. Now  _stop_ stalling.”

So he  _had_ been paying attention, despite how little Reece had seen of him. “I don’t know what you…”

Wax slammed his latest cup of coffee down on the counter, so loudly Reece’s teeth rattled. “Cut the bullshit. You’ve been avoiding me for three weeks now.”

Reece’s defenses instantly unfolded, about to take blows. “Me? Avoiding you?”  _Is the guy blind? Then again, I have been sleepwalking practically this whole week… or longer._ “You haven’t been in the apartment for more than an hour for  _most_ of those twenty something days,” Reece accused. 

“Neither have you,” Wax retorted, eyes blazing. “Don’t think I don’t know about your two in the morning strolls.” Reece cringed, entire line of sight narrowing in on Wax as the walls seemed to press him into this moment, exactly where he didn’t want to be. He didn’t want to lash out at Wax, to say the one thing that would come out someday, whether he liked it or not, whether he bit his tongue or screamed or raged at the world or not. “Or the not eating and lying to me about it. Or the locking yourself in the bathroom and leaving the shower running so you have an excuse to be in there.”

_Shit…_

He was backed up against the counter-top now, palms and fingernails digging into it painfully, heart thumping too erratically beneath his chest until he was  _positive_ Wax could hear it, would reach in past his ribcage and grasp it and  _crush_ it just with one look, one word, one more time of turning away. 

“I know you’re not hurting or drugging yourself. I know you enough to know that, can read you like an open book, Reece, so just fucking _talk_. Talk about why the hell you just _had_ to lure him, to get him to fixate on you and no one else in the goddamn room.”

_Stop stop stop stop stop…_

“I could have throttled you. I  _should_ have fucking throttled you, even though it worked.”

_I know it worked. I’m the proof of it. I was the weapon, the distraction…_

Wax had told him to finish it given he’d started it, but he’d also told Reece to  _wait._ Wax had been distracted, flirting with those girls at the bar, nearly breaking his cover if it hadn’t been too late anyway, if Reece hadn’t already sold himself so well that any suspicion was null. Reece could have waited,  _should_ have waited until they made eye-contact, until he knew Wax knew where he was going. He could have skulked off into the bathroom, sent him a text,  _waited._

But he had been so  _sick_ of waiting, so tired of waiting for Wax to make the next move; to answer one of Reece’s many  _important_ questions; to make it clear just how exactly he and Reece stood, drawing the line between them never to be crossed; to stop using Reece as bait, as a diversion; to stop making Reece wait until he figured out what Wax knew. 

For once in his life, he didn’t have to  _wait._ He had everything he needed, had his prey right where he wanted him. Wax could be oblivious, could flirt and drink and get high and Reece would do it all. 

He didn’t  _need_ Wax. 

He  _couldn’t_ need Wax anymore. 

So he didn’t wait. He smiled and blushed and flirted, he let his hands go where they wanted to, talked without thinking too much about it, found the back door fairly quickly so he could  _finish_ it. 

And instead, he had nearly finished Reece.

So yes, Reece  _remembered_ : his eyes locked on the scumbag, trying to…  _succeeding_ in pulling him in with just one flirtatious look. The small talk, tipping one glass back after another until there was no such thing as  _enough_ , the constant burning in his nose and throat not warning enough as he eyed another perfect white line on the nearest table, how clumsy he was, how clumsy he  _acted,_ how stupid he felt, how stupid he  _was._

“Why didn’t you goddamn  _wait?”_

And something in Reece just  _snapped._

“Why? Why be the reason for you not getting to sleep with those  _girls?_ Why be the person you blamed for rushing into it, for not waiting any longer, for ruining your  _night?_ It’s always Wax’s way, always on Wax’s time, always wait, Reece, we’ve got plenty of time, Reece, stop and enjoy the finer things in life,  _Reece.”_

Wax just stared at him like he’d lost his mind, like Reece had turned into this completely different person, like they wouldn’t be able to go back to being partners after this, like Reece was just supposed to be one thing and one thing only: square, patient, under Wax, behind Wax, quiet, obedient, always the butt of the joke, forever in the background, the last to know, along for the ride, one step away from blowing himself into pieces, one vision away from a mental break, one betrayal and rejection away from  _shattering…_

Reece calmed and  _breathed._

“There was no other way,” he remembered. “That was why…,” he broke off, taking another  _deeper_ breath, waiting for Wax to back off but he  _wasn’t_ .  _Why doesn’t he just leave me alone?_ “The hallway…,” he closed his eyes, trying to stop himself from going back there, feeling sick. He couldn’t say anymore than that, didn’t have to because Wax knew what he meant. 

What other reason could there have been for that kiss?

Maybe their killer’s sights had already been locked on Reece before that point, but after that point there was no turning back. There was probably jealously there and a sick longing and so many other things that would crawl unwanted up Reece’s spine if he thought about them long enough.

_And Wax just wants to keep_ pushing  _it._

“He noticed you,” Wax went over again. “That’s why you did another line of blow. That’s why we left, that’s why I  _decided_ that we leave. I didn’t expect him to follow us, that was stupid on my part, but if we hadn’t…”

“Made out,” Reece finished for him.  _Coward._

“Then he would have bolted. It was the only way for us to keep our cover.”

“No,” Reece fumed. “That was when you got it into your head to use me as  _bait._ ” The only way to make Reece even more attractive had been giving that sick asshole something to fight for, being Reece, and something to make him jealous, someone to fight against to claim him, and who the hell else could that be other than Wax? The one person Reece wanted to be protected and coveted and  _loved_ by. 

Wax shook his head, trying to make Reece  _see,_ but Reece was tired of seeing Wax’s way and  _only_ Wax’s way. “Not like that. I never would have let him come within two feet of you, Reece. I would have taken him out long before that.”

So was it all his fault then, for not reading Wax’s mind, for not blindly trusting and following him, just this once?

Had he deserved what had happened to him?

“What do you want me to say, Reece?” Wax pleaded, or rather, he  _would_ have pleaded if he was capable of it. “Do you want me to say I’ll never do it again?” 

_Yes,_ he was tempted to say. But why lie? Why keep lying when it was killing him inside, when maybe all it was doing was pushing Wax further  _away?_

_I hate him. I hate him I hate him I_ hate  _him._

_But no, I don’t._

_He makes me feel alive. He gives me that light at the end of the tunnel, a home to crawl back to no matter what I have to go through. He lets me know that I’m not alone, that he always has my back. He doesn't_ just _use me as a means to an end; he genuinely wants to protect me. Every time I see him with some girl, some prostitute, I can't stand it. Call me jealous, call me a fool, but I do love him. I want him to look at me like that. I want to give my heart to one person in the world and that person is Charlie Wax. And that's the reason why I'm screwed._

And if only Reece’s head was steadier than his heart.

“It wasn’t nothing, don’t you  _get_ that? It wasn’t just  _nothing_ to me.”

Appalled, Wax gave him an opening. Reece took it and fled, out of the apartment, down five flights of stairs, not knowing where the hell he was going or if he’d ever be able to return.

* * *

 

Falling back to the safest place imaginable, Reece booked it to the agency and checked himself in for another psych evaluation and, being voluntary, it was easier than he’d thought. There were plenty of things off limits to talk about, but for the most part he could talk about how the case had affected him in real physical ways, not just emotional.

And, surprisingly, he felt  _lighter_ after it. 

Reece knew that Wax had wanted him to say all those things to him, so they could understand each other better, but anything regarding a serious conversation with Wax about his feelings felt intolerable. Reece had confided in him once or twice before but never on this level.

It was insurmountable.

At least, that’s what Reece told himself just before he ran into Wax in the hallway. “Wax! What the hell are you doing here?”

“Had to make an amendment to my report,” Wax told him, pushing him into a room which Reece only vaguely realized was the same gray room he had given his own report in.

Reece watched his partner warily. “What kind of amendment?”

In answer, Wax pressed him lightly back against the wall. Before Reece could even so much as blink, Wax’s tongue licked a long stripe from just underneath Reece’s left ear down to his shoulder, then pressed kisses into the skin there, making Reece squirm and grab onto Wax’s shoulders in complete shock, instinctively finding the eyes of the room. “Wax, stop! There’s cameras!”

Wax scoffed. “ _I_ told them the  _truth_ ,” he boasted, in between pressing dainty little kisses that were so entirely  _unlike_ Wax to Reece’s forehead and cheeks and nose and parted lips. “I told them,” he elaborated, “that if they had a problem with my personal life then they could go fuck themselves to loosen up, and if they  _still_ had a problem with it, then they’d have to do some explaining to Mrs. Jones.”

Reece’s eyes practically bugged out of his head at Wax’s cavalier threat... and then the actual  _words…_ “But… wait…”

Wax sealed Reece’s tongue with a kiss that couldn’t be described as anything other than both sweet and scorching. It was like Reece’s entire world  _exploded_ into a dazzling display of light and fulfilled longing and then came raining down on him soft and true. After an age Wax pulled back, grinning from ear to ear as if he had felt the same magnitude of feeling that Reece just had. Somehow, Reece knew he had. “I ain’t no mind reader, Reece, but luckily I don’t have to be with you. Do I have to take the lead on  _everything_ though?”

Reece felt like he was coming down from an incredibly bad and incredibly long high. He felt like Wax was the only one holding him upright right now. “I didn’t think it was possible.”

“That I’m capable of loving? Or that I’m capable of loving  _you_ ?” Reece averted his gaze because he knew Wax knew the answer to that. His partner’s thumb brushed Reece’s lower lip, the tips of his fingers smoothing over Reece’s cheek, collecting the dampness there, and Reece didn’t understand why but that worked better than any words ever could. “Oh, Reece, you’re gonna  _wish_ you never fell in love with me.”

And then Wax proceeded to suffocate Reece with his mouth and tear off all of Reece’s clothes at the same time because hey, the guy never did anything halfway. And Reece, like the last time, just sat back and floated and tingled all over and enjoyed the ride.  _Initially,_ anyway. 

For the moment and possibly forever, Wax was  _his._

**FIN**

 

 


End file.
